Warlords of the Air. [Myles] [Flashback]

[Eitan Angevin]

3rd Ash, 120 Steel

"Captain on the bridge!" Angevin barked as the CO strode aboard. The crew came to attention, saluting. They respected Captain Chlodio, and showed it even when they weren't in an emergency situation.

"Helmsman," Chlodio said as he strode forward to the warded glass through which he could see ahead, "remain at your post. Take us up and east."

"Aye, sir!"

Angevin pulled the lever that would signal the deck crew to unmoor them and by the time they signalled back, the commander could feel the thrum of the engines over the hum of the wards that it was his duty to maintain. Having a Warden on board would allow the old patroller to remain in the air longer as damaged wards needn't be repaired at Onneifer Airfield. But it was a new arrangement yet and this was his first patrol with this ship.

"Infantry's gone ahead," said the old man. "We are an addendum in case aught goes awry. Eagle eyes and air support, et cetera, et cetera."

"Aye, sir," Angevin acknowledged. Being overly cautious was a good policy seeing as their foes tended to favor guerrilla tactics. Things were boring until they weren't, and any mission that wasn't boring tended to be deadly for someone, preferably the High City's enemies.

The airship was not graceful in the air, but what she lacked in grace, she made up for in velocity: soon they were speeding toward the morning sun. The wards cut the brightness somewhat, and so they weren't far out when Angevin spotted signs of malfeasance.

"Smoke, sir!"

The captain swung his spyglass about, confirmed with his own eyes.

"Helmsmen, full speed ahead."

"Aye, sir!"

It wasn't to be a boring day. Of course, forest fires did happen in the months of Searing, but finding fire where they were sent to patrol for wrongdoing could not be mere coincidence. As they quickly approached, a patch of burning trees twisted, the fire dancing to some maleficar's bidding, and reached out like a demonic hand to catch the airship. The wards screamed, but only Angevin could hear them. He didn't need Chlodio's imprecation to rush to the anchor—in this case, the anchor to the wards placed on the airship. He put his hands on it and began to stretch himself through his cursed rune to merge with the structure of the wards and reweave them where they were growing frayed from abuse.

"While Angevin keeps us from getting singed," the Captain snapped, "I want eyes on the ground. Identify friendly forces and enemies, and punish the witches."

"Aye, sir!" came from all around as the helmsman brought them broadside where more of the cannons could be used as soon as they could minimize the risk of death by friendly fire.

[Myles Arnnett]

It filled his lugs, smote his eyes, burned his flesh, the smoke was growing thicker and seemed to be following them as they retreated the wind at the backs of the crazed elementalists behind him who seemed unfazed by the choking fumes. Bursting from the wall of smoke Myles ran, Jamison kept slightly ahead of him, Myles heartened by the presence of his senior lieutenant still standing heartening him to keep moving. On the horizon silhouetted by the sun came salvation in the form of a glorious Zaichaeri warship.


“SHIELDS UP KEEP RUNNING”

Myles heard the lieutenant yell and followed his orders as he began to understand that they where about to endure some close range fire support. Hoping their accuracy would be true and their firing lines clear Myles charged forward doing all he could to ignore the screaming pains in his legs and abdomen. Following Jamison who leaped log to be followed by a tumbling Myles. His heavier armor and wounds were taking their toll on him. As he tripped and sailed over the log Myles landed hard and rolled in a tumbling mess of mail and plates. His helmet tumbled on the ground before him. Before he could retrieve it however he was already being pulled by a screaming Jamison he couldn't hear over the chaos around him but he imagined it was something like “Move you fool” Stumbling to his feet he continued to run now doubly aware of the need to shield his head. The sounds of the airship began to compete with the roaring flames and mages behind them.

Clearing the line of tree Myles saw the bluff where those who'd retreated first stopped. It was a mighty site the haggard men guarding the hill with the hulking airship behind them. Myles began to feel like he might just survive this whole ordeal if he could keep his head on and his damned legs moving. His armor now chafed against his blistering flesh that grew more agonizing with each step. Myles' legs grew heavier with each step, Jamison gaining a significant lead on him, but he would make it, he had to.

[Eitan Angevin]

The airships wards had been at full power, and while they were more complex than anything Eitan Angevin could weave himself, he was able to shore up weak spots after several barrages of magical attacks attempted to batter them with brute force. Zaichaer might largely eschew magic, but when it did find a State-sanctioned application, it was certainly elegant about it. The shields were something to behold. The cannon blasts shook the ship like a leaf in the wind, but when Captain Chlodio deemed it strategic, he ordered the helmsmen to take them low enough at the bluff where injured troops were gathering to extend the gangplank to ground. Meanwhile, several ropes dropped down as armed airmen took up positions to cover the retreat of the injured.

"Angevin, status report."

"Shields nominal, Captain."

"Excellent. Give them one last buff and then get down there on the ground. I need an officer managing the situation."

"Aye, sir!" While it ought to have been the XO's duty—the Captain stayed on the ship, went down with the ship—Angevin was only too happy to pound the ground with the troops. Too often, he found himself merely sustaining the shields, which he realized was a vital action, but he wanted to get more combat experience, more leadership experience, so his career didn't tank where it was.

Soon enough, he was sprinting across the deck of the ship and, rather than cross traffic up the gangplank, he rappelled down the side of the ship, jumping the last meter or so, tucking his shoulder, and rolling.

"Eccleston," he shouted over the boom of cannons and magical attacks, "cover me and report!"

He put both hands on a boulder and began to weave his aether into it as an anchor. There was no time for fancy work, and so he tasked it against magic and then pushed it slowly outward, wanting to build a dome over the landing site and the men huddling there. At least that way, the soldiers could focus on avoiding mundane missiles, and Angevin would counter the unholy threat of magic.

Eccleston reported, guns firing strategically. Down at the tree break, Angevin saw stragglers hobbling as fast as they were able toward the safety of the airship and the aegis he was weaving.

"Eccleston," he interrupted. "Cover them."

[Myles Arnnett]

Cresting the hill Myles was quickly able to join up with the lesser wounded and the reinforcements that rained from the sky with a glory and expedience rarely seen on the fields of battle. Joining ranks with the other shield bearers forming a barrier. More mages than soldiers began to appear from the smoke as the routing soldiers numbers dwindled. A group of cultists equipped with spears came screaming from the smoke seemingly bent on breaking through their ragged defense line.

“HOLD” a soldier yelled before the sounds of spears meeting shields rang out, some screamed their last unable to raise their shields in time. In that moment however Myles was ducking the spear he'd deflected from the top of his arm. Whipping his head to the side more aware now than ever of the helmet he'd lost in the retreat. Going low Myles stabbed his over extended foe in the gut and up into his rib cage drawing a hideous gurgle from the ash covered cultist as he collapsed next to several of his allies, eerie smiles on all their faces.

Reforming their wall seemingly a few soldiers fewer this time Myles cursed as he looked behind him to see the many wounded still trying to board the ship, they'd have to hold longer. Turning back to the from Myles saw arcs of fire emerge from the walls of smoke before them like hellish artillery. Before they could land among the soldiers they exploded midair colliding with some magic shield above the crew of the ship must have summoned. Thankful for the reprieve from magical assault at least the shield wall began a slow back stepping retreat as their wounded evacuated, never taking their eyes from the smokey battlefield before them. The cultists seemed to use the smoke as one of their primary forms of cover and had integrated it thoroughly into their tactics. He feared even now more of them were regrouping in the murky darkness of the fires they wielded.

“Hold on men, we've got to cover our wounded”

Myles heard Jamison somewhere in their line still yelling orders as the odds became questionable. Myles heard hat sounded like another group of cultists preparing for a charge in the smoke but wasn't quite sure from where, the men around him continued to tighten rank and pull back. Myles could feel his burns throb with ever panicked beat of his heart. The men to his sides where fairing little better most of them bleeding or sporting fresh burns as well. Gritting his teeth he prepared for whatever the next wave of enemies might bring to bare against them.

[Eitan Angevin]

There were advantages and disadvantages to Angevin being on the ground. He could provide an effective cover for his troops, but as the ranking officer on the ground, at least from the airship, he was distracted by his work when he also had to be taking stock of the battle. As such, he was listening to Eccleston's running commentary—often blue—while expanding the range of his magic-nullifying shield.

He heard another man calling orders, his voice unfamiliar in the din, and assumed it was the ranking officer among the ground forces. At least he ought to be able to coordinate matters until such time as Angevin's attention wasn't split.

"Cover the officer," he snapped. He didn't want to lose anyone, of course, but if one cut the head off the snake—as the saying went—well, Angevin wasn't ready to juggle just yet.

When he had the shield pushed out to as far as he could with a reasonable assurance that he could hold it, he could see how many men were still trying to maintain a shield wall. His magical barrier was good and all, but it wasn't going to be enough. Gritting his teeth and anticipating some time recuperating from this necessary overstepping, he began to task his barrier to turn back metals, mostly steel and iron. He didn't think there would be many bronze weapons, at least.

"Fuck," he muttered, feeling the strange sort of strain that had nothing to do with muscles, a little to do with his mind, but mostly to do with that part of him that was aether. He would suffer the consequences, but not yet. Not until the danger had passed; though, truth be told, the dangers of magic never ceased.

He did it. But for a moment, his mind didn't register. He was seeing things: auras like he was coming down with a migraine or something. Well, he would deal with the consequences. Arrows, quarrels, and slugs began to ping off his shield and now he was going to vomit— No, now he was going to continue to feed aether into the shield to keep the missiles from shredding it, and he was going to pull his sidearm and help fight back. Already, soldiers were realizing that their shields were unnecessary unless the offensive pushed through the shield. They shouted to each other and began to get a bit more aggressive with their own offense.

Angevin looked up. The airship was still holding against the assault, but its shields were starting to show the strain. Still, their aerial bombardment continued and that had to be doing something for the odds. The sun was quite bright, even though it looked like burnished copper through the haze of smoke. Suddenly, Eccleston was shaking him roughly.

"Sir!"

Angevin shook it off, followed his lead, and then seeking out targets in the whorling smoke.

[Myles Arnnett]

Myles gritted his teeth each moment they held the line more agonizing than the least, the anxiety and tension building with each moment as the soldiers bought time for the retreating men. Another glance back told him that the most heavily wounded had been loaded and it was now the mobile wounded getting on the ship. It wouldn't be long tell they could break rank and join the retreat onto the ship.

“Just a bit longer lads!” Myles yelled at the top of his lungs trying to bolster his own courage as much as that of the men around him. The appearance of fresh reinforcements and the cracks of gunfire heartened him further preparing for what ever it took to sustain this defense a little longer. A low rumble began to sound before what sounded like thunder behind the smoke wall. Then the wall of smoke blasted away as the mages sustaining it revealed what they'd been hiding.

One final charge burst forth, with no time to count Myles assumed somewhere between twenty to thirty ashen cultists where about to be upon them. As both sides saw each other the cultists let out their battle roar and charged. Some of them where cut down my gunfire thinning their numbers but causing them to barely falter in tenacity.

Raising his own shield Myles roared through a hoarse throat and braced himself to defend. The cultists fell upon them like flames with a tailwind. Locking eyes with the closest Myles gritted his teeth as they loosed a bolt of flame from their ashen hands. Stepping into the attack Myles swung his shield into the crimson ball of flame wincing as it splashed against his buckler spitting flames out in a corona of heat and light. Wasting no time his adrenaline frenzied mind stepped forward and a hand he didn't remember raising crashed down on his foes shoulder with his blade slicing all the way to the collar bone before becoming stuck. His foe jerked backward and the handle slick with blood left Myles hands leaving him with only his shield and brothers to defend him from the next wave that was already upon them.

CLANG

Again Myles deflected a blow with an arm he could no longer feel. His training and the reflexes it had given him allowed him to block a wicked obsidian dagger that squealed as it rutted his iron shield with its wicked edge. “DIE!” Myles demanded of his foe as he slammed his foe's face with the shield. The man screamed as Myles realized his shield was still glowing with red heat from the fireball it had eaten. He grinned and pressed the attack against his overconfident fool who'd thought cornered prey at its weakest. Cuffing the cultist again in the head with his well beaten buckler Myles sent the dagger wielding weakling to the dust.

Falling to a knee Myles faltered as a wave of pain rolled through his arm. Their numbers on the hill had dwindled but so too had the cultists. Staggering back Myles looked to their wounded and saw none left waiting on the earth. At least they'd managed that.


Myles failed to see the cultist behind him rising from the dust broken dagger raised defiantly.

[Eitan Angevin]

The bombardment finally seemed to be turning the tide of the battle. The airship's shields were battered, but holding. When he was recovered, he would have his work cut out for him. His shield on the ground was holding, and the injured were embarking for medical evacuation. Angevin managed to keep pace with Eccleston's advance to the edge of the shield. His slugs shot right through the shield, which only blocked things from entering. If the violence and velocity of its departure disrupted the field at all, it wasn't enough to worry about in the heat of battle.

From the safety of his magical bulwark, they found targets amid the smoke and fired. Angevin could get two shots off with his pistol before needing to reload, and while that seemed to take forever, it was a brief and efficient affair. He could reload with his eyes closed.

"Fall back!" he called out to the brave Zaichaeri soldiers. They would lay covering fire to aid in their retreat, but if they didn't extricate themselves quickly and expeditiously, they risked getting caught out by the remaining cultists. He fired once, and then he fired twice, and only then did he see the cultist rise up behind the back of a man in Zaichaer's colors.

His hands went through the motions of reloading even as he crossed the threshold of his warding. It tingled over his skin and through his body, likely only because he was attuned to its energies.

"Sir!" Eccleston protested, even as he followed the officer, who shouted a warning even he followed Angevin out. The Warder wasn't thinking of his own safety, which might have been exacerbated by how much energy he had spent on these wards, but as soon as his pistol was reloaded, he brought it up to fire at the distracted ambusher.

[Myles Arnnett]

It wasn't until he'd heard bullet crack over his head that Myles realized the danger he'd been in. Whipping around Myles was just in time his would be attacker hit the dust struck by Zaichaeri armaments. Looking onward to the airmen who's gun still smoked Kicking the downed cultist in the head for good measure Myles made for the airship his body protesting at the last of the uphill journey top safety, the other around him also falling in as the last of the cultists fell to gunfire from the reinforcements. Whatever cultists that where left where fleeing or hiding, no more were standing that he could see at the very least. Each step towards the ship felt heavier than the last as his adrenaline reserves finally waned in the presence of rescue. Gritting his teeth he passed the Airman who'd fired the shot that'd saved him. His mouth unable to produce words for its dryness he gave the man a thankful nod and half grin as he went by.

When he made it to the gangway he turned around letting the most wounded of the defenders make the ascent to safety first. Looking back he looked back on a field of burning grass and corpses of friend and foe alike. The smoke smelt of burning flesh and the sounds of the lost and dying echoed grimly on the air. Myles grimaced as he bore witness to the price of the military's hubris on this day. His body ached and shook with the effort it took to stand at this place but he couldn't help but look back at the scene. Again and again the flaming skull of his commander flashed in his glazing eyes. Unable to look away paralyzed by the scene of death before him Myles searched the faces of the last boarding looking for any allies he'd been close too but seeing none.

Worse than the stinging pain of burned flesh and the aching of abused limbs was the iron knot forming in his core. Gone.... so many of his friends... allies... gone, just like that. His chest ached with a tightness that no choking smoke could muster. Stumbling as he turned back to the gangway the soldier caught himself on a knee and arm. Shakily standing with the help of a offered hand Myles began his ascent up the gangway himself as a numbness began to take place of the pain he was feeling.

[Eitan Angevin]

Angevin flashed a smile back; both would likely have seemed rictus grins to anyone not in the thick of battle. His second shot went off into something that moved in the smoke, and then the mechanism locked up and he cursed. But Eccleston was pulling him back toward the ship in any case, the injured men already making a break for the gangplank. The Warder stumbled along behind him, holstering his weapon to be seen to later. For now, his wards were holding and they could safely get up and out of here. His ward didn't seem to be taking much damage at the moment; perhaps the cultists had realized their only options were to use overwhelming force upon it, which they weren't, or rush through it into easy view of the airships gunners and cannoneers, which was suicidal.

There was a bit of a traffic jam at the gangplank, but it was soon sorted and Angevin was the last to board.

"All aboard," he shouted at the nearest airman, who began to coordinate with others to draw up the gangplank. "Tell the captain," he shouted at another, who bolted for the nearest doorway.

A part of him wanted to pour more of himself into these starboard shields, but he knew the damage to himself might be irrevocable. He intended to die a hero and a martyr but it would be unnecessary today and he would steal a weapon from the hands of the High City if he died now. The captain had been briefed on his abilities and his limitations, and plenty of airships didn't have a Warder aboard, so he knew how to make do with failing shields.

Something warm and wet touched his lip and he swiped it away with the back of his hand. Turning to find something useful to do, his eyes landed on the soldier whose back he had watched at the last minute and he walked up.

"You good?" he asked. And, "Best sit down and hold onto something. Evasive maneuvers can bowl a man over if he isn't—" And then the airship wrenched about and even the airmen automatically dropped into crouches as the ship rose quickly and came about, giving the enemy its pristine port shields and a fresh volley from the port cannons. Precision strikes were no longer an option, but the new altitude gave the gunners and cannoneers a better vantage to offer what decimation they could. Some of the cultists had likely already escaped, being weasels and cowards, gone to ground. They weren't equipped to follow, and these men needed medical attention.

He managed to prevent the man from hitting his head at least, but the lurch had them both down on the deck. His nose was still bleeding and he swiped away at it from time to time. Angevin was no medic, but with this amount of wounded, he knew every iota of medical training was going to be necessary to save lives, limbs, and such.

"What have we got here?" he asked, trying to survey the man's wounds. "I'm Angevin. We're going to get you home now."

[Myles Arnnett]

On the ship now Myles struggled to get out of the way of those boarding last. Standing off to the side watching the gangplank with draw as the ship prepared too evacuate. The blessed sounds of the airship worked to deafen him to the sounds of the wounded howling in agony aboard the vessel that had rescued them. As he stood shell shocked by the events he'd just survived the adrenaline coursing through him began to fade from his system leaving him depleted. From the fog of his mind a man called out to him.

Myles looked to Eitan blankly seeing the man but not hearing the words he said even as he watched his lips move. Then the ship lurched, without the other soldier to steady him he likely would have cracked his head against the deck. The jolt brought him back to reality as his senses returned to normal for the most part. Letting the man help him to the ground he grimaced as he sat and flexed the skin of his stomach and sides. When he introduced himself as Angevin and asked after his wounds Myles forced a thin smile.

“My blood should mostly still all be in me...”

Gesturing to his torso the ashen tatters hung around blackened chain mail corroded from extreme heat. Links in the chain mail gave small viewing holes to where the padded armor beneath had been burnt through allowing the loops of metal to burn into his very flesh. The sickening smell of burnt human hair and skin so suffused so many it hadn't yet occurred to Myles he was the source of it but the increasing pain he was in as the adrenaline fled his body frightened him even more.

“I'm... I think I'm afraid to look Angevin” Myles said as he focused himself on keeping eye contact with the man and not allowing the pain to render him unconscious as it seemed to sting worse with every pulse of his heart.

“Thank, you... for saving us, I thought I was ready to die for us, for Zaichaer... but such an awful fate.”

The Flaming skull of his commanding officer glimmered hotter than any of his burns within his mind, searing itself into his psyche. Myles gritted his teeth and forced a grin to suppress his tearing eyes. “You've guaranteed us vengeance Angevin.. thank you.”